


As life gets longer, awful feels softer

by wordfrenzy (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2299769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/wordfrenzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times they weren't just friends. </p><p>
  <i>Flesh and metal; unstable and steady — all shared between two guys who were stupid and reckless and forgot what it felt like to be on the front lines. It's a different kind of front line now, but that doesn't make it any less dangerous. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	As life gets longer, awful feels softer

**Author's Note:**

> As a way to take a break from another fanfic, (AU — Bucky and Steve both falling and becoming brainwashed assassins), _this_ was the result. The title comes from the song The View by Modest Mouse. (I have not listened to it, but found the lyric fit well with Bucky here, despite it looking nothing like that.) 
> 
> Thank you [halfmoonsevenstars](http://archiveofourown.org/users/halfmoonsevenstars) for betaing. You're an absolute star. ♡

The room is freezing and the blankets are scratchy and thin. Bucky shivers, but really, it's the last thing on his mind — the last thing he gives a damn about. It's the last thing on his mind because Steve has his legs belted around his back and kisses at the dark bruises he's left behind on Bucky. 

He's bony and frail; well, maybe not breakable, as there is a strength in the way he tightly grasps onto Bucky's shoulders and arches up against him, in how a moan claws its way up his throat. 

It's stupid, but he still makes sure to touch Steve as gently as he can. 

'C'mon, Buck,' Steve says around a gasp. 'I'm not going to break. Will you go faster, at least?'

'You gotta stop rushing me, unless you want another concussion and blood all over the floor.' He leans down to kiss Steve silent before he answers with some stubborn protest, hand hitching his thigh higher, and — god, that feels good — as he chokes on a moan. 'Do you want that? Cause I sure as hell don't. Pretty glad we don't have carpet, that'd be a bitch to clean—'

'Bucky. Shut up.'

He does, and slams his hips. It jolts Steve up the bed, his mouth parting on a groan, almost sounding as if it is wrenched from his lungs. In a matter of seconds, the chill is replaced by heat — too much, verging on stifling, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care, because Steve is kissing him and taking him apart with the simplicity of touch, and it's so obvious that he's fucked. Bucky was fucked the first time they did something like this, in a dark alley, partly drunk with stale breath and hands stuffed down each others pants. 

By this point, Steve is panting, his skin flushed and prickling with heat. Bucky can feel it against his own skin, and it's fucking glorious. He reaches down to wrap a hand around Steve, and it's a desperate, awkward effort to get him off, but it happens fast for the both of them; Bucky presses his face into Steve's neck to hold back the urgent cry, but Steve doesn't bother to hide his own. 

The veins on his neck stand out as he bows it back, lips spit-slick and swollen, and Bucky just stares, stares and finds himself grinning like an idiot with a good kind of ache in his chest. 

'Well, fuck — why'd we wait so long to do that?'

Steve smirks. 'No idea.'

He rolls off, plastering himself against Steve's side. 'What you smiling for?'

'Nothing,' Steve says, and shoves at his shoulder; it's such a friendly thing to do, almost brotherly, that for some reason it feels as if they were just messing about, that it isn't what Bucky always thought it was. 'Go to sleep, we got work in the morning.'

Bucky gives him a smile, but it's forced and tight around the edges, and it feels as if it might split him open. 

 

~

 

Out of all the times he wants to tell Steve this kind of news, it isn't when he's as sick as he's ever been.

He's curled up on his side when Bucky enters — shivering, too, even with the swathe of blankets around him and a wet cloth over his forehead. Sweat glistens on his skin, which is feverish red and Steve looks as uncomfortable as hell. Bucky can only sit on the edge of the bed and stroke a hand over Steve's arm. It's pathetic, a feeble attempt at taking care of him. In times like these, Bucky knows what to do, but it has limitations. 

An asthma attack or heat palpations, those he can deal with. In hindsight, his coping methods are too intimate; the gentle words between them and idly rubbing circles over Steve's back proves that. It's instinct, not even that but natural, and it feels impossible to try and stop. Bucky doesn't know what to do with colds like this, where wheezy gasps are scattered among Steve's clipped, half-hearted sentences, and he's plagued with coughs that look as if they're break him into pieces. 

It's horrible that Bucky doesn't know.

He's never felt so shitty. 

'Look, Steve—'

'I know you're enlisting.'

Bucky's face drops. 'What? How did you — what?'

He smiles weakly. 'It's kind of obvious. All over your face. You applied, so the only reason you'd have that look on your face is 'cause you got accepted. It's alright. I envy you, in fact.'

There is a heavy feeling in his gut, like a dozen rocks sewn into his stomach. Bucky wishes he isn't being shipped out in a week, leaving Steve behind, when he sees him like this, barely able to hold himself up. He runs a hand over his face and takes in a deep breath that cuts up his throat and insides, too much so that it's suffocating. He chokes on his words. 

'You can't enlist, Steve. Not like this.' He looks down at his shaking hands. 'You don't have anything to prove.'

'No, but,' he says; another smile plays over his lips, 'men are laying their lives on line out there. I got every right to do the same.'

'I know you do.' And he's leaning forward, closer and closer, until his forehead rests against Steve's clammy, hot one. He swallows and then lets out a shuddering breath. 'You can take anyone, Steve — all those bullies, you can take 'em. It's just. It's hard, y'know?'

He doesn't get a verbal reply, only a pair of lips crushing against his. Bucky almost keens in pain from the way it unleashes an ache in his chest. It's harsh and bruising and hurts, but he takes it because if this is the last time he's ever going to see Steve, touch him and look at him, he'll take what Steve gives him. Bucky's heart thunders against his chest, fingers clutching at the front of Steve's shirt, dry with sweat and dirt.

It takes seconds to strip off clothes and feel skin, the air heavy around them. It's not the best time, not when Steve's so transparent and raw, but Bucky finds himself giving in anyway; it's ridiculous how easily he gives into Steve's pleas, despite being sick — prepares and enters him with a desperate edge to his movements, and it's ridiculous how fast it comes and goes, his thrusts clumsy and graceless. Sweat is trickling down his hairline and back, and when he comes with a badly-suppressed shout, it only makes him feel worse. 

And he doesn't know why, but he has to hold off tears when he slowly brings Steve off with his hand, watching him come apart at the seams with a faint blush to his cheeks and dazed smile on his face. 

No — Bucky does know why.

But he'll never say it out loud. 

 

~

 

Everything hurts. 

His joints burn and it still feels as if there are injections in his arms, but Steve is wiping the blood away from his skin and pressing a glass to his chapped lips, and it's all good. It's okay. 

There is something about Steve when he's like this — it's close to when he's fighting, with a frown of concentration in his brow, tight-lipped and bright-eyed from what Bucky guesses is sleep deprivation, but it's his hands; they are artist hands, deft and steady, not a single tremor running through them as he works. There are cuts all over Steve's face, some bleeding and others already healing over, and it's been a day since he rescued the 107th, but Bucky will never get used to Steve's new body. 

'So,' Bucky says, hissing as Steve dabs at a cut over his eyebrow. 'How'd it feel?'

Steve smiles. 'You already know it hurt, but it didn't last long. It sounds strange, but I don't feel much different. Just — bigger, I guess.'

'Yeah, just a minor change,' Bucky says around a laugh, but grabs his side at the pain that shoots through his ribs. He waves off Steve when he tries to help, as if he hasn't done enough already. 'Think it's gonna last long?'

'Why? You want it to?'

Bucky shrugs. 'I ain't gonna lie, it's a bonus. But I like you either way.'

The wet rag disappears and a hand replaces it, brushing over his bruised cheek. It's rough and calloused, years of sketching and cracking noses underneath, and it skims over Bucky's skin; he thinks he might just faint, the moment too inappropriate and ill-advised given the state they're in. Maybe they'll just sit like this, touching and breathing in and out. Maybe —

Steve kisses him. 

He's about to pull away — needs to, to save them from ruining what they already have. Months ago, he'd have stuck his middle finger up to that part of his mind, but now they're in the army and on the front lines and amidst the risk of death, and it seems too precious now to taint it — to dig himself a bigger hole and possibly be ripped to shreds if anything happens to Steve. Bucky is selfish, though, selfish and terrible, because he kisses him back and belts his arms around Steve's neck. 

When Steve turns and gets into position; the one where he wants to get fucked, Bucky forgets how to breathe. His chest tightens and his breath leaves him in a rush. 'We don't have to do this.'

'Don't you want to?' Steve asks, glancing over his shoulder, and it's so damn innocent that it feels like Bucky's on the verge of a heart attack. 

'Well, yeah. But—'

'If you're going to ask if I want to, then yes. Of course I do.'

He can't refuse — never can. So he unbuckles his pants and slides them down to his thighs, then tugs away Steve's until they're bare flesh and is exposed. He grabs the lube from his pocket and takes his time readying them both at a leisurely pace, and doesn't speed up, not even when breathy moans fall from Steve and his muscles bunch under his uniform. 

Unintentionally, he curls himself around Steve and presses a kiss to his clothed shoulder. He doesn't move; it's as if his body has locked up, but if Steve notices, he doesn't say anything. Bucky's grateful, because like this — shaking with the effort to hold back what he's hopelessly wanted to say for years, or the urge to break away and tell him to let this thing between them go — in a world like this, they can't be together, not even with this fucked up arrangement they have going, not when it feels as if he's tied up in knots when it's supposed to be no strings attached. 

It takes five minutes before Bucky recovers, leaning back and then giving one, hard thrust. He grips Steve's hips so hard his knuckles whiten, and sweat drips onto his mouth, salty and warm. His knees scrape across the floor, burning and uncomfortable, but he pushes further, the room full of white noise and moans and a grey static that buzzes around his skull. 

He comes too soon, Steve following closely after. It makes him angry, but he can't release it; he's vulnerable and covered in the red of not just enemies but other soldiers, that it's like he doesn't have a right to get angry. He sighs, and rests against Steve's back, listens to the shallow breaths. 

'I need to tell you something.' He shakes his head. 'I—'

'I know you do,' Steve says, reaching behind him to lay his hand over Bucky's head. 'I know.'

 

~

 

There is so much blood tricking over his hands that when he closes his eyes, he can still see it. 

He remembers the times when he'd comforted Steve, hand between his shoulder blades as he coughed up blood, but now it's the other way around. The attacks creep up on Bucky at the least expected moment; they're so strong that it takes away the fews things he has left like the ability to go out for a run on his own or the possibility that he might be normal again. 

What is worse is how Steve can't touch him until Bucky feels ready. It's usually hours, if at all. So far today, he's managed to even out his breathing and allowed a hand on his back, but he wants more — he doesn't know why; maybe it's from the spark of memory of two guys in uniform or just the need for contact instead of forced distance, but he needs it. Without thinking, Bucky pivots and leans in close enough to be considered an invasion of personal space, but other than the slight widening of Steve's eyes, he doesn't show any discomfort. 

But when he leans even closer, Steve stops him with a hand on his shoulder. 'Buck — you don't have to do this.'

'I know,' he murmurs, blinking at the vivid memory of how he'd once said those words. 'I want to.'

'Do you?'

He pauses. 'Yes.'

It's not hesitation, not an uncertainty, because he does want this. Wanted it for as long as he can remember, which is roughly seventy years ago. He might've not remembered Steve's name or what he looked like, but he'd always felt an ache in his chest for no reason. 

Then Steve kisses him, peels away his clothing, and leaves his own mark over the scars. It's different and there might be a haze in his mind, but Bucky's never felt so sure about anything — a certainty that runs bone-deep, and when he notices that Steve's hands are shaking, brief quivers that he has no control over, Bucky clasps them with his own. Flesh and metal; unstable and steady — all shared between two guys who were stupid and reckless and forgot what it felt like to be on the front lines. It's a different kind of front line now, but that doesn't make it any less dangerous. 

And Bucky thinks — no, he knows, despite that, he'll follow Steve through it all.

**Author's Note:**

> wordfrenzy.tumblr.com


End file.
